The taming of the 30-year old

The big “leap” to age 30: Some realizations.

Ok, for those of you who know me, whether you love me, hate me, or feel somewhere in between, you can all agree on one thing- my 20’s were NOT a boring period in my life.  A bit of a “whirlwind”, if you will. Certain eras of the 20’s resembled a fun reality show or a movie that could have starred Lindsay Lohan. I turned 30 recently and, well, have actually noticed myself growing up a little bit. (But, thank you cab driver last week who asked what college I attended. God bless you for thinking I could possibly be 22 years old.)

I have been through various career changes, various relationships (both romantic and friendships), various hair colors (but that didn’t last too long), various political beliefs, various weight changes, various, well, everything. But, as I am “growing older”, I am realizing that there are certain constants in life and what is really important.  Realizing who my real friends are and that I don’t need 500 acquaintances; realizing how truly important it is when people say “You are lucky to be healthy”; realizing that I will never be good at math and that I could probably learn fluent Mandarin before solving a geometry problem; realizing that maybe I am not meant to be a size zero and that I’m getting really, really tired of forcing it and just eating the damn taco even if I can’t fit into a size small from Akira; realizing what I want to do with my life and actually going for it.

These days, I find myself saying to my younger cousins things like “When I was your age….” and “Those types of places are for bad people”.  The other day I actually caught myself muttering and shaking my head saying “Damn kids”, referring to a group of teenagers walking down the street in neon crop tops, jorts, and screeching about how “Oh my god Johnny didn’t text you back yet? Did you get that at Forever 21?” (Disclaimer- I may still have this conversation with friends at this age.) I felt like my grandfather, minus the Marlboro Light and Old Style. By the way, I love you Grandpa Norby, R.I.P.

I remember being 14, thinking I was really slick and so incredibly cool for hiding my pink pager from my parents in my Georgetown Hoyas Starter Jacket. Clearly I needed said pager so I could get beeps from….my best friend. And call them from the pay phone at Golf Mill Mall. I would get angry and think my parents were the most horrible people on the earth when they busted me with it. Now, I think my parents are the greatest people to exist, and anyone who knows them will not argue with that. Hey, they had to raise me, right? Why do you think I’m an only child?

Now, I’m not saying I’m turning into some old, lame fuddy-duddy. I still go out. I don’t wear “mom jeans”. I wore some shorts that were probably more suited for a 24 year old last night to the Bears game. I’m going to North Coast because I still like me some nice electronic music. I’m hip, I’m with it…(think of Dr. Evil saying that in Austin Powers as he tries to do the Macarena.) But, I also am okay with staying in on a Friday night whereas five years ago that would have been the equivalent of getting shot in the leg.

Long story short, I’ve noticed subtle changes just this summer even compared to last. I’m a lot “tamer” than I used to be. And it’s not just me, it’s my friends too. You can’t keep up that pace forever.  I’m ok with that. Hence the fact that this is getting posted at 9pm on a Friday.  To all you 23 year olds out there heading out to Lincoln Ave.- have a good time tonight and remember, there is now a $50.00 vomit clean up fee in Chicago cabs so pull yourselves together.

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